never neverneverland

now we're smoking out
withering down and weathering out
not our wrinkles like on unironed sheets,
but our once fiery hearts that once sounded our beat.

hear our feet pitter patter like a sewing machine
that's been submerged in water and can't mend our seams.

you could call Peter Pan
and forfeit your dreams
but neverneverland
is never what it seems.

-- from October 2010

the meaning of music

The many times things get us down,
we resound the sound of the mystique
that when sung aloud can arouse a crowd
to mesmerizing silence or joyful screams.
Music has no bounds. It abounds
and clarifies through sound
the mind's white noise that aims to compete.
But notes numb numbness.
Rhythm rivals regret.
Treble and bass conquer tears and blinding thoughts.
And so we listen, and we listen again for the messages in music.

Melody and harmony coincide to intonation
that corresponds to how we feel inside.
Coherent composition makes those feelings calm,
stifling silence and somber screams.
Music is complete, from the rhythm to the beat.
And, so isn't it ever sweet
that when one's fingers hit the keys,
music responds from A flat to G.
It is in this trail of tone rather than of tears
that inflection that's sincere
dares to shatter sadness.
For when the sound waves hit the walls, music comes to call,
and music is the best medicine of all.

And so when we listen, we escape into songs.
When all this takes place, our brain waves interlace
into phases of sound.
And when sound is the source, music takes its course.
Whether fast or slow, it's here emotions start to flow
as we enter into song.
As we listen, we understand what we've lost and what we've got;
we know our pain and what we've gained.
The performance has attained
its purpose.
So if we're now all in tune, you'll agree
music makes a difference when you learn to listen.
And to those who listen,
if you think sound is the essence of the senses, let's hear your consensus
in applause.

----

Wrote this poem for school (sometime in February) and read it out for my public speaking class.

sunset

You're whimsical
You're a warrior
You're winding down
like wine's ending.

What we've renewed is rusting, in gold, ever-ending,
-- can we amend it, perhaps extend its stay?

If I could cry tears of fire,
I'd ignite us again,
and enlighten our sun to not set at sunset
because that is the end before daybreak.

-- from November 2010

question of design

It is strange how so a space
in which one could once escape
becomes a crowded room so fast,
a resting place that's been erased.
How the mimes all come to life
in this wilted paradise
is a question of design
that is not mine
that is not mine.

-- written January 31st, 2011